


The One Where Dave Runs Away

by eighth_chiharu



Series: The One Where Dave's a Vampire [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7950019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave has vanished, and Dirk and Rose are left behind. Without a clue to his whereabouts or intentions, will Dirk try to resume some semblance of a normal life? Or will his need to be close to Dave reunite them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. gone away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Vampire AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/226465) by eighthchiharu. 



She’d like to say she doesn’t remember much of what happened four nights ago, but it’d be a lie. She remembers it all, every detail carved into her mind as sharp and clear as acid etches into glass.

Dirk’s arm. Dave’s eyes. The blood.

The _blood_.

“Rose, here. Every four hours, remember? That’s what the doctor said. It’s 4PM, open up.”

As if she’d forget.

Dirk sits on the sofa beside her, the cushions sinking so that she’s tilted toward him, two yellow antibiotic pills in his hand. She looks up enough only to regard them, silent with hollow regret. She should say more to him, but she can’t seem to lift herself out of the mire she’s sunken into. She’s supposed to be Dirk’s nanny, his protector, his family. She didn’t protect him in the least. Her ploy was selfish. She wasn’t prepared. She failed him.

_Daughter, you reach too high._

She’d laughed when her mother told her that the first time. Now, no-one is laughing.

Rose takes one of the pills, and Dirk’s hand closes over the other. 

“Bottoms up,” he says. It’s not cheerful. It’s not even determinedly optimistic. It’s stolid, purposefully mechanical like one of his robots. Her boy’s smile is gone, and she’s the one who stole it.

“Yes,” she answers, still staring down at it. She looks up at last, and starts violently.

Ambrose’s pointed sunglasses stare blankly out at her from Dirk’s teenage face.

“What are you doing,” she says, irritated at the fright, demanding. “Take those off. It’s not funny.”

“I look like him,” Dirk says calmly. “These were his, now they’re mine. It makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make any sense at all. We threw those out four years ago, I know we did.”

“I took them out of the trash when you weren’t looking.” He tells her casually, as if it doesn’t matter, him keeping those things all these years.

He lifts his palm, dry-swallows the pill. His forearm is wrapped tightly in white bandages, faintly stained yellow in some places where his skin is still knitting itself together. Four days isn’t long enough for a human to heal, but it’s long enough for them to suffer.

Rose shakes her head, concern kindling strength within her. This can’t be healthy, can it? She doesn’t know, but it seems wrong. “That doesn’t matter. You didn’t do this, Ambrose didn’t do this. _I_ did. And even if you played some part in it –”

“I told Dave to get out, not you –”

“– why would dressing up like _him_ improve anything? Do you think Dave wants to see you like that?”

Dirk stands. “I want _Ambrose_ to see me. If he comes around now that we’re alone, he can fucking see this before I kick his ass. And… ” He gives her a small hint of a smile, a weirdly angry, sadly hopeful smile. “And if Dave sees, and thinks anything like what you think, then he’ll have to come back just to make me take them off. Right?”


	2. first watch

It’s hot on the roof, and that’s wrong. It should be cold. Freezing. There should be howling winds full of snow that bury me in three-foot drifts, so I die of exposure alone and bitter, and Rose has to come find me and cries and throws her fists up to the sky, cursing the God who caused this to pass, cursing Dave for his stupid inability to Just Say No to a pint of O+.

It doesn’t snow.

I sit with my back against the roof access door thing, the outcropping of stucco and wood that forms the functional doorway, and glare at the cloudless expanse of slowly-deepening blue above me. The sword Dave gave me – a real sword, one from Japan, the kind that are illegal to import now, but Dave says he’s had it for longer than the law has existed, and now it’s mine – rests on my knees. The scabbard is polished wood, dark, and it shines dully in the waning sunlight.

It’ll be night soon. Give it an hour or so, and the blue will be red, and then purple. The sun will be gone, and the vampires will come out.

Bro will come out, wherever he is.

And so will Dave.

And where the fuck is Dave? We don’t know. He hasn’t come back yet.

“Because he’s a cowardly piece of shit,” I mutter. No-one corrects me, so I must be right. I wouldn’t want to face me if I’d chewed a hole in me either, but that’s no excuse. He owes it to us. He at least owes us an apology.

He owes me an apology.

He took me in. He’s my brother. He’s supposed to want to be here. He’s not supposed to just fuck off because something – 

Because he was hurting me, and I said –

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what I said, because I’m a kid, and he’s an adult, a really fucking old adult, and adults know better. If I just wait, he’ll come back. I just have to be patient. He’ll be back.

“Hey, kid!”

I’m up on my feet in an instant, my heart lifting –

“Get off the roof, kid, or I’m callin’ the cops!” someone shouts, and a window slams shut.

I stare after the source of the sound. Then I bend down, pick up my sword, and go sit against the tiny wall. It’ll be night soon. He can’t come back until it’s night. I have to wait.


	3. all through the night

[title reference](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzFqirIGVB4&feature=youtu.be)

 

 Dave sulks.

That’s the only word for it that Bro knows, this hiding in dilapidated buildings, burrowing into the soft, dry earth beneath the corroded floors, never coming out except to visit a different market or a different butcher each night. Dave mopes just like the equally mopey human baby he’s trying to parent, and it’s no wonder to Bro that both of them are related. It’s impossible to be this lame and not have some kind of faulty genetic connection wiring them together.

Bro’s just glad that weak-ass shit passed him by.

Unfortunately, what was funny at first – and Dave digging around in the dirt like a hog on a truffle hunt is pretty fuckin’ funny – is now yet another pain in Bro’s ass. Dave is silent and tortured, and doesn’t pay attention to anything around him, not even when he’s eating. He leaves himself open to all kinds of predators, creatures that have no love for vampires and don’t wish to share any sort of territory with them. 

Fuck, Dave is so lazy sometimes. It makes Bro want to lock him up somewhere forever just so he can stop worrying about whether Dave’s gonna live to the next sundown. He can’t do that, though. He’s tried it, and nothing happens except more of this same bullcrap: Dave moping. Dave crying. A lot of begging, and none of it sexy. And no learning at all.

So Bro lets Dave do what he wants. Lets him brood and abase himself, ignorant or uncaring of the threats closing in, and Bro takes care of those threats personal-like. He doesn’t let Dave see him, and he doesn’t ever let Dave know what he’s doing – that would be mollycoddling, and as the Good Book says, “spare the rod and spoil the child”, and Dave needs the rod more than most – but he handles his business.

The creatures learn after the second night not to bother Bro’s little brother. Only seven of their number have to die for him to get the point across, and he’s proud of his own teaching methods. Only seven! It’s a new record.

Anyway, if Dave needs to moon around, fine, so be it. He’ll come out of it soon enough, he always does. He’ll realize what he did, and why he can’t live with humans, why it has to be this way.

He’ll realize it good, and he’ll learn to never do it again.

 

 


	4. dead beat

The week starts, and I’m back in school. Rose gives me something to carry with me just in case, some sort of charm in a tiny knitted bag that smells like the sort of thing you slip in with your underwear if you’re partial to your shorts smelling like an herb garden. I take it without arguing. I mean, if it’ll keep me safe, I guess it’s worth it. It’s not like I want to die or anything.

Whether there’s something to live for or not remains to be seen.

The first period class is still gym, and all the boys crowd around me in the locker room, wanting to know what the hell happened last week.

“She’s fuckin’ nuts,” the tell me. “It’s like Body Snatchers or something. She taught us how to play basketball. Like, _how to play_. Rules and shit. Not just run laps and then laugh at us when we can’t make a shot.”

They mean Coach. For a minute, I want to gloat. I would never tell them about Dave’s mind powers, but I could tell them how cool Dave was, how he came to get me even when it was hard for him, how he bossed Coach like she was nothing.

“Your dad was here, right? He came to get you? That’s what Laurie said, and she was in the office when he came through. Did he tell her off? Did he, like, threaten to get her fired? It’s ‘cause of her you hurt your arm, right? Are you gonna sue?”

It’s one thing for me to think of Dave, but when they mention him, something turns to ash in my mouth. It’s like their knowing about him makes him more real, and his not being home isn’t just a bad dream, it’s a fucking fact.

I stand up. I don’t want to be here, but big brothers running off isn’t reason enough to skip school, at least not more than a couple days. Rose says it’s best to act normal. Well, what the fuck is normal for the kid with Dead Parents and No Family At All?

“I fell,” I lie, shrugging. “And I don’t know what he told her, I wasn’t here. They sent me outside.”

There’s a collective groan, and a couple of them slap my shoulder good-naturedly. “Aww what! You’re kidding! Man, I wanna know what your old man said to that bitch, it had to’ve been somethin’ good!”

“Guess so,” I agree. Then, just to get them off my case, I add, “Hey, I wonder if she’d set up the cones for us if we told her we couldn’t figure it out.”

A couple of them grin. They decide to go try it out. And see if they can get her to put them away, too. And all the basketballs.

They run off, and I follow behind. I’m slower, but they don’t care. I was a source of decent information, such as it is, and now they have something else to occupy them. They don’t need me. I don't know if anyone needs me, really.

I don’t want to be here, but I have nowhere else to go.


	5. expiration date

 


	6. get to the bottom

I rinse the bottles when I’m done and put them in the wire delivery rack. It’s the same kind they had for delivering milk to babies in the 1950s. The whole milk-to-blood, baby-to-adult thing isn’t lost on me, but I’m so used to it by now that it doesn’t make much of an impact. Usually I’d tease Dave about being a monster infant, or something stupid, but the asshole isn’t here.

He’s not _here_.

Suddenly I’m angry. It’s fast and sour, overwhelming. I want to break things, shatter the bottles against the kitchen floor, stomp on the wire basket. I don’t. It won’t do any good, he won’t see it and I’ll just have to clean it up. 

I have a better idea.

I yank open the junk drawer, grab a screwdriver, and stalk over to Dave’s room.

The hinges come off his door in record time.

The door’s heavy, but I manage to drag it inside his room and lean it against the wall. I turn toward his desk, drop to my knees and yank the drawers out.  Every screw I find gets removed, even the ones for the handles on the drawers. They leave holes behind that are as satisfactorily dark as the one inside me.

Fucker, I think, my breathing coming faster. I turn the screwdriver as fast as I can, my wrist protesting, my knees trying to convince me that the floor is too hard to kneel on for this long. I ignore them. You fucker. You fucking idiot. You stupid, selfish, _prick_.

My vision is blurry and my nose is running. I wipe it on my shirt and finish loosening the fasteners on his fancy office chair. I yank one arm off, then the other. They hit the floor with matching clunks. I pop the seat off, the casters next, and look around for something else to undo. The hinges on his closet door are next. Then the fat screws on his dresser. The itty-bitty tiny ones on his laptop. The pile of parts and hardware grows until it takes up half the floor.

And then I organize it all.

By the time I’m done, I’m sweating through my shirt. My hand hurts like a son of a bitch and my shoulders aren’t any better. The screws are jumbled together in one of the empty blood bottles, and all the pieces of everything I took apart are stacked, biggest-to-smallest, in a freaky pyramid like something out of Poltergeist. Only Dave’s bed is intact, mostly because I can’t unscrew a mattress.

Well, he can keep it. Something for the fucker to hide under, since he likes hiding so goddamn much. Now he can duck-and-cover all he wants, if he ever comes back. Which he won’t, because he’s too busy playing ninja out in the world. Thinks he’s so smart, just because he can hide from us, from me and Rose, and we don’t know how to -

My thoughts run into that wall so hard I literally stagger back a step.

‘Don’t know how’? _Me_? Dirk Strider, boy genius?

Fuck that.

I leave Dave’s room and go to mine, dropping into my intact desk chair and flipping my computer on. I’m still hot, almost tingling, and I pull my shirt off and drop it onto my floor. I lean over the desk, my hands poised above the keyboard as the monitor lights up, the OS logo flashing across the screen like the warning flag in a NASCAR race, but there’s no way I’m slowing down.

Dave’s picked the wrong kid to fuck over. He thinks he’s smart? That he’s got all the answers? Think again. 

You’re coming home, Dave, whether you like it or not. 


	7. tired and true

There’s too much to do. Too much to think about. Rose has so much on her mind that she wonders if she’s missing things. Dirk is so quiet. He’s always like that, but now it worries her. She can’t see what’s going on inside his head, and he won’t tell her like he would when he was little.

She worries that he’s hurting more than she can imagine, and she’s handling things disastrously.

Leaving him alone to go shopping for dinner may have been a mistake, but she’s not sure that their constantly being together, keeping him from perhaps expressing himself, is the right technique either. The shopping trip was short, only an hour or so, and it seemed like the perfect way to test the waters.

Maybe that was wrong, too.

She unlocks the door to the apartment, nudges her way inside – and stops. The smells of soap and copper linger in the air, faint but telling. The now-familiar tang might as well be a slap. It shocks her, makes her drop her bag and move.

She ignores the hope that tries to well up inside her. Now isn’t the time.

She checks the kitchen first, and the source of the smell is immediately apparent. The empty bottles gleam at her, water droplets still shiny on their surface. The sink is wet, as is the hand towel. It’s confusing. What villain would take the time to wash up? And if there’s danger here, why aren’t her wards screaming in violation, sending warnings howling up and down her soul?

And where’s Dirk?

She turns. The door at the end of the hall and off to the side stands open, the light there shining invitingly. She knows what she wants to think, but she can’t think it. Not yet. She can’t imagine that Dave is back, that Dirk is with him, that everything is all right. She has to see first.

Seeing is believing, but oh, Goddess, she wants to believe right now.

She all but runs to Dave’s room, pulling up magic, trying to be ready to fight but unable to quell her own hope. Greetings and chastisements flying through her mind instead of spells, welcoming words crowding on her lips, ready to spill out whether Dirk wants her to say them aloud or not.

 _Dirk missed you. I missed you, I worried about you, but it’s Dirk who needs you the most. He’s been so upset, he’s so young and so much has happened. He can’t take another blow like this, you can see that, can’t you? You have to be careful with him, you can’t leave him, not ever again. Promise us, Dave, promise him and promise me and_ -

She stops in the doorway, her welcoming smile freezing unnaturally. The mostly-empty room, the scent of wood, of sweat. No blood. Confusion melts her smile, holds her in a long, blank pause.

Dave’s not here.

Two steps and she’s at Dirk’s door, magic hot in her veins. She wants to barge in, but she doesn’t know what’s in there, or what they might do. Careful, she has to be so, so careful. One hand knocks while the other begins to glow, gathering power. “Dirk?” Her voice is a rock, like always. She could lie to the Goddess herself with her voice. “Are you busy, honey? Will you come assist me with dinner?”

One heartbeat. Two. She almost grabs his door and opens it, throws herself into her room to decimate whatever’s in there, whatever’s got him -

The door opens and her boy is there, almost as tall as she is, alive and whole – and shirtless. She blinks, almost jittery with power. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah,” he says, “just checking some stuff out.” He gestures toward his computer, then catches sight of her hand. “I uh… guess you saw Dave’s room. Or you figured out I ate the last of the Pumpkin Spice Cheerios.”

“Mmm.” The adrenaline drops, the barometer of her calm bottoming out. She releases the magic, lets it run out of her like water - blood? - out of a bottle. Dirk is safe, and Rose is tired. “I suppose if you needed to do that while half-naked, it needed doing.”

He touches his chest and blushes lightly. “It needed doing. His room, I mean. But I had pants on the whole time. The Cheerios might’ve been a mistake.”

She snorts, trying not to let him see how shaky she is, trying to force normal into a situation where no ‘normal’ exists. Her boy has enough to worry about. “Cereal aside, we need to eat. And there’s something we need to discuss.”

Dirk nods. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you something, too. Wow, talk about coincidence. We’re not gonna start dating, are we? Should I just make up a note to pass to you? ‘If you like me, check YES’? Or is this the breakup talk?”

It’s too close to what’s happened to them to be truly funny. Rose reaches out and tugs on Dirk’s earlobe. “Sorry, no. You’re stuck with me, dear. Now let’s go out to the kitchen. Someone needs to start working off their Cheerio debt.”


	8. out of sight

  * He’s not far enough, but he can’t bring himself to go any farther.
  * Four hours might as well be across the street in this day and age. The only thing that lets him stay here is the knowledge that neither Dirk nor Rose drive. Not that they’d ever locate him among all the cows. He’s made sure of that.
  * He’s made sure they’ll never see him again. That he won’t hurt them again.
  * He suddenly realizes he has to call his lawyer. Tell the firm to give Dirk what little Dave has managed to save for his college education. And the rent. Who’s gonna pay the rent on the apartment?
  * They’ll have to move. Dirk has to move. Rose will take him in, Dave knows she will, but they’ll disappear. He’ll lose track of them. 600 years watching his family, keeping them safe, and in a couple of weeks, they’ll be gone.
  * And he’s making it happen on purpose.




	9. boundaries

Dinner is breakfast, which, frankly, is awesome. I can take or leave the chorizo and eggs, but crispy bacon and fried potatoes (peeled and sliced by yours truly) are a must. I dare you to find anyone from Texas who’d turn those down if they have a choice.

Rose is smart enough to wait until after I’m done chopping things with a big knife to bring up what she wants to talk about. She doesn’t try to weasel her way around whatever it is she needs to discuss, either, which is a nice change from high school. She just preps herself, settles into that librarian/psychologist/Lucy Van Pelt-this-is-a-very-serious-matter pose and goes, “We need to talk about housing.”  
  
I have a mouth full of aforementioned bacon, which kinda impedes any thoughts that don’t have to do with chewing delicious, salty-meaty goodness. More confusingly, I have housing, if by housing she means where I live. “What?”

She adjusts her expression to let out a little bit of resignation. “You remember I have my own apartment?” I nod. “All right. Well.” She takes in a breath, lets it out. “I’m sorry to be so frank at a time like this, but… Dirk, I can’t afford both apartments.”

I swallow my precious pork product and blink at her. All I can think to say is a remix of my previous comment. “Huh?”

“I can’t afford this apartment. I don’t have the money.”  
  
And then, all at once, I get it. The food turns to a rock in my gut. I wish we’d talked before I ate.  
  
“Dave pays the rent on this one,” Rose says, “and I pay the rent on my own. I don’t –”  
  
“He’s coming back.” It’s sharper than it’s supposed to be. I set my fork down, done with my food. Dave is not in the past tense, gone away for good. Dave is now. He’s out there. “He’ll pay for it when he comes back.”  
  
She nods once, slowly. “Yes, he might. But if he doesn’t?”  
  
If he doesn’t, we’re out on our asses. Or more like, I am. Rose has a place to live. I don’t have anywhere but this apartment. If he doesn’t come back, I don’t have a family. I’m an orphan for real. Again.

I can’t handle this.

“Never mind, I have an idea that I wanted to ask you about anyway. You can do location spells, can’t you? Scrying and all that?“

Rose eyes me. "Yes.”

I push my food away like I’m making room on the table for her magical paraphernalia and wave at the empty space. “Okay, so do that. Find him, and we’ll go get him.”

She looks at her plate. She hasn’t eaten any more than I have. “If he wanted to be found, Dirk, he would tell us.”

“Not if he’s dead.”

“He’s not dead.”

“How do you know? What if -” I don’t finish. I can’t. I can’t say it aloud. Dave is fine, Dave has to be fine. “Maybe he’s -”

“I checked.” Her cheeks are pink like she’s embarrassed for checking on someone she cares about. “It was wrong of me, he wants privacy, but as you said, if he were hurt, he couldn’t very well communicate with us. So I looked. But he’s not hurt. He’s alive, he’s whole.”  
  
It ought to be enough. Just knowing Dave is okay should be more than enough. But it’s not. Him being fine not only makes me want to lay on the floor in relief, it also makes me want to punch him right in his stupid face. What the hell is he thinking? No, I know exactly what he’s thinking, and he’s so wrong it makes me wanna puke. “So where is he? If he’s okay, why doesn’t he come back?”

“I don’t know.”

”Doesn’t he love me?”

 _Fuck_. I wasn’t supposed to say that.

Rose’s face falls, and I almost feel guilty at the way she starts to scoot back her chair, to reach for me. “Oh, honey, it’s not that –”

I stand up first. “Then help me. Why won’t you help me?”

“You don’t understand.” Rose’s arms fall to her sides. Her cheeks are pallid, and something about her voice is weird and hollow and I don’t like it. “I could find him. I could drag him here, haha. I could force him to come back to us, no matter what he wanted. But that would cost us - cost _me_ \- more than you can imagine. I can’t do that sort of thing, not when it’s directly against someone’s will. The payment… What happens to … It’s not…”

I glare at her. “It’s not _worth it_. Is that it?” She doesn’t answer, just stares at me wordlessly from the other side of the table, her hands gripping at each other, the knuckles pressed red to pale and back. I turn and leave, and she doesn’t stop me, because she knows what I’m thinking, and she can’t give me what I want. She won’t.

I’d sacrifice my soul for Dave in an instant. She should be willing to do the same.


	10. right direction

Dave hasn’t moved since last night. He’s still sitting in the shed, still facing the wall, head down on his arms, back exposed to whatever wants to take a taste of him. He’s got bugs crawling all over him, for Chrissakes, though the critters are in for major disappointment. Dave ain’t edible, not in the natural way. With all the sackcloth-and-ashes bit, Bro’s surprised Dave hasn’t tried going to a church, throwing himself down on the marble floor and begging the nearest priest for absolution.

Heh, last time Dave tried that, the carpet caught fire and the whole place burned to the ground. Took a nun and a deacon with it, and woulda taken Dave, too, if Bro hadn’t been following the moron around. Still funny.

But this time around, Dave is boring as fuck. He’s following the snoozeville pattern he always does when he’s gearing himself up to ‘do what’s right’. He’s on track to leave that pubescent distraction well and truly behind - and that means Bro is free for a day or two.

Indulge in a small vacay, get something real to eat. Clean up a little, maybe grab a new shirt or baseball cap before it’s time to make his big entrance. Sweep in, pick Dave up, dust him off. Give him some brotherly affection.

Show him where he really belongs.

Decided, Bro stands and stretches, swinging his arms in a wide arc, first over his head, then behind his back. He doesn’t get stiff - no vampire does - but Bro never ceases to put on a show. Can’t ever tell when someone might catch a glimpse of him, and he can’t afford to not look good, not even for a second.

He takes a last look at his little bro, pauses, then blows him a kiss. Dave doesn’t see, but anyone else who does might think twice about trying anything while Bro’s gone. He surveys the area one last time, smelling nothing but cows and shit and hay, seeing nothing but flat, open land, and nods minutely. Good enough.

With one leap, he’s off the three-story barn, hitting the ground lighter than any cat before he breaks into a run. There’re people nearby, and he’s got supper to find.


	11. ollie ollie oxen free

Rose and I don’t talk about how disastrously our discussion went. We don’t talk about it that night, or the next night, or the next. Rose doesn’t ask me to consider another apartment, and I don’t ask her to get ready to squat in a place we can’t pay for. We ignore each other as civilly as possible, and I leave her after dinner each night feeling like a jerk.

There’s nothing I can do about it. She won’t help, and I don’t have forever. With each day that goes by, Dave could be further and further away. If there’s one thing I don’t have to waste, it’s time. She can coddle her own feelings for a while. I have more important things to do.

It’s an almost impossible task, one highschool kid tracking down a mythical being that doesn’t want to be found, but I’ve never stopped just because something’s difficult. Rose won’t give me a hand, but that doesn’t mean I have to do this all alone.

I write queries, create programs that automatically search localized data spreads whenever they hit a keyword. I set them to run while I’m at school, then map the results when I get home. I find the AI I developed last year, the one that seems so unsophisticated now, and I update it to assist in the search. Change the parameters as it sees fit when I’m away from my computer. Newsfeeds, lists, groups, message boards: my programs search them all.

What I can’t finesse out of the internet, I pound out of it.

The hits come more frequently: _unusual, strange, this-time-of-year, cult-sacrifice._ Dead animals are everywhere in the city, unremarkable to most people who couldn’t care less if one more Fluffy or Fido gets offed out on some redneck’s farm, but to me, those carcases are points on a map. Instagram, Reddit, 4-chan, gore sites, anywhere that posts idiots’ photos of the pets and farm stock that have had the bad luck to run into an animal serial killer. The more photos I find, the more articles HAL returns, the clearer distribution of incidents becomes.

The fifth night in, eleven days since Dave left, I do one final map. I re-compile the data, then I have HAL double-check me. I hold my breath when he announces he’s come to the same conclusion. There’s only one place in Texas that has the frequency I need, and they types of animal injuries I’m looking for, and since it’s not Halloween, it’s as safe a bet as any. I lean back and study the map and its overlay of data points, all congregated so that they look like a stain of red points spilling out of the borders of the city.

San Antonio.


	12. exit stage left

  * Dave wakes. He’d rather he didn’t.
  * The sun is still in the sky, though well on its downward slope. Soon, maybe three hours or so, it’ll slip below the horizon, and Dave will go out to feed. He’s always careful, choosing only the cattle that have been out to graze the longest, drinking only from their flanks, places where they might naturally scratch themselves on tough bushes or downed fences. Their wounds are shallow and heal swiftly, with no evidence that he’s ever touched them.
  * It’s the safest existence. The loneliest.
  * He stands in the warm barn, small bugs tumbling from his body. They do him no more damage than they do the earth, but today will be the last time he provides them any kind of shelter.
  * He undresses in a dark, humid corner of the barn, removing his dirt-caked shirt, his slacks, his undergarments. There’s a spigot here that still functions; he can use the fresh water to wash himself, rinse out his clothes. He can be presentable by sundown. It’s a lot easier to move through this world if you have a pleasant appearance.
  * Tonight, he’s leaving Texas forever.




	13. tracer

Morning comes. I haven’t slept at all. I was too wired, too busy checking and re-checking computations. I’m running on nothing but orange soda and Mountain Dew, and I’m shaky as hell. Ambrose’s sunglasses help hide my bloodshot eyes, but even if Rose notices, she won’t ask. She thinks I’m grieving.

She’s wrong.

I’m ready at the normal time and meet her out in the living room, barely managing to keep from bouncing on my toes. I want to be on my way already, but I can’t deviate from the schedule or she’ll suspect something. I take the lunch that she’s made me, and tell her, a little rudely so she won’t guess how nervous I am, “Be home late today. We have a project due soon in Science, and we’re gonna finish it at the library.”

“All right.” Rose falls into step behind me, following me to the front door like she always does. 

She walks me to the bus. She watches me get on it. The bus driver takes attendance, checking off every child he picks up. I choose a seat in the back and pretend to nap, my bag in my lap.

I couldn’t be more awake.

I get off at school with the other kids. I even go to class. Every subject grates on my nerves, more boring than watching paint dry. Even Computer Science, the class where I’m allowed to do almost anything I want since Mr Cornwall realized I’m light years ahead of everyone else, can’t hold my attention. There’s nothing school has for me today, unless it’s how to get to Dave that much faster.

I don’t want to wait, I want to go, but I gotta play the game if I don’t want Rose to put out an APB on my ass.

When the clock strikes three, and I’m up and out of my seat in that fraction before it rings, a whole minute before the teacher dismisses us. She’s still talking, and I’m gone. She shouts my name, but I don’t stop. The excitement bubbling in me won’t let me.

Dave. I’m going to Dave.

I run all the way to the city bus stop, barely catching the 3:29pm bus to the edge of the city. I watch Houston roll by, ignoring the smells of someone’s take-out, the unwashed guy behind me, and the woman with the crying baby that needs changing. My thoughts are on Dave, how he feels, how he sounds, how surprised he’ll be. How much just seeing me will make him want to come back.

The last stop forces everyone off. I clamber down onto the street, slide my backpack on, and start walking. As soon as I get far enough down the 10 freeway, I turn around and stick my thumb out.

Should I be hitchhiking? Probably not. Do I have $75 for a bus ticket? Nope. It’s okay, though. It’s daylight, I’ve got a knife from the kitchen - one of the big ones Rose keeps in a drawer, the kind for slicing up Thanksgiving turkeys, and wow is she gonna flip when she sees it – and people in Texas are mostly friendly. Anyone giving me a ride has gotta be mostly decent.

And if they’re not, I’ll just tuck and roll.

Twenty minutes into my walk, broiling under the afternoon sun, I’m beginning to seriously rethink my strategy when an old pickup truck rolls up beside me. The windows are down, and there’s a good-ol’-boy-in-the-making sitting behind the wheel. 

“Hey there,” he calls, stopping the car as I slow to give him a once-over. “Ya need a ride, huh? Where ya goin’?”

“San Antonio,” I say. “MCR’s havin’ a reunion, and I wanna see it.”

“Oh yeah? A concert, I can sure understand that. I love music! Get on in here.”

He leans over to unlock the door, grinning at me like he’s proud of me for being man enough to run away to The Concert of the Year. I grin back as I scramble into the cab. 

“You know MCR?” I ask. 

“Nah,” he says. “Haha, sounds awesome, though! You really got some balls, gettin’ rides out here! But I guess you prolly got a gun or somethin’, anyway. Know what I mean?”

It’s Texas, everyone’s got a gun. I don’t, but he doesn’t need to know that. I shrug and grin. I think I’m pretty safe. This guy is a hoot. He looks like what would happen if Vanilla Ice and Dwight Yoakam had a baby. He can’t be much older than me, maybe, what, 16? He’s got big blue eyes, a babyface, and a shock of red hair that would make Ronald McDonald jealous. He also has a baseball hat on sideways, and he’s got Jay Z on the radio.

Perfect wanna-be dork.

“Buckle up,” the kid announces, indicating the lap belt on the bouncy bench seat. “Safety first, or whatever that slogan is. Wanna make sure we get there in one piece.”

I buckle up, but adjust the strap so it’s loose. I leave the window down and the door unlocked. Whoever this guy is, he seems pretty cool, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m too close to fuck up now.

“I’m Dirk,” I say as he pulls back out onto the highway. Gotta be friendly, gotta make conversation so he doesn’t turn right around and drop me off at the closest police station.

“Nice to meetcha, Dirk.” The kid sticks out a hand. “You can call me Cal.”


	14. feel bad for you son

_[title reference](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fvimeo.com%2F110496766&t=ZjFhYTk3NTM2MjNhNTU1YjcyNWY5YjBhN2NhMjNiNzkwNTlhZGY4NSxWcFE1cHF2eg%3D%3D) _

Cal is actually… a really cool guy.

He’s weird as shit, sure, but he’s friendly and he’s got great taste in music, at least for someone hung up on the oldies. He’s got a freaking tape deck, of all things, installed right above the CD player like an ugly afterthought, and his glove compartment is packed with cassettes and discs by Ice-T, Wu-Tang, and LL Cool J. His truck smells like cigarette smoke and Old Spice. He says that’s ‘cause the truck was his grandpa’s or something, but since his grandpa can’t drive anymore, they let Cal have it.

“Yeah, okay, you’ve got a sweet ride. But you can’t just pick people up off the side of the road, bro.” I tug a pack of Doritos out of my backpack while a hot wind whips through the open windows of the cab, snapping at the package as if it’s hungry for junk food. I pray that my gel holds up to the ravages of 70 mph, otherwise I’ll be making my big Scooby-Doo, mystery-solved entrance at Dave’s hideout looking like a very angry Alton Brown took an eggbeater to my scalp. “I mean, I’m not gonna do anything, but there’s some serious crazies out there just waiting to get their sick meat-hooks into some juicy young thing.”

Cal laughs. Most guys’ll do anything to keep their laugh more on the bass side, but not Cal. If you heard it without seeing him, you’d think it was a cute girl’s laugh, it’s that high-pitched. “I can watch out for myself, don’t worry. My daddy taught me how to fight, an’ I don’t reckon anyone’s gonna be takin’ this truck or me without losin’ some teeth.” His gaze slides to me, almost coquettish. “Unless you got designs on me, city boy.”

“Me? Nah, man. I’m not about that life. I prefer not to roam the country murdering people for the fun of it. I’m too much of a homebody." 

He waggles his eyebrows comically, but there’s an _I-know-you_ kind of look in the back of his eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining it. I blink, unsure, and end up staring too hard at his pink cheeks. At the soft black fringe of his eyelashes, their feathery length oddly dark against his white-boy skin – and the heat rushes to my face without me even understanding why I’m blushing. 

I shake me head vehemently as he looks back at the road. "No. Nuh-uh. I sure as hell don’t wanna tangle with you. You look like the kind of guy who could kick a few asses and then get all his cousins to help him hide the bodies.” He doesn’t, he looks like a nerdy red-haired noodle, but I’m trying to salvage what little dignity I have left. 

“I’d have to bribe ‘em,” he says, pretending to think it over. “Might get expensive!”

“Speaking of bribes.” I finally get the pack of Doritos open and hold it out. “Here, my payment for the ride.”

Cal glances at it. “Nice. And I guess since you’re not Ted Bundy, I’ll take some. Cool Ranch?”

I snort. “Would anyone decent touch anything else?”

He gives me another one of those big grins and takes a couple of chips. “Thanks, friend! If this is the reward of the road, it’s worth it. I gotta pick up more hitchhikers like you.”

“No, see, that’s what I was saying. You really don’t.” I pop a few of the chips in my mouth and crunch their cheesy-ranchy goodness with a startling amount of satisfaction. Now that I’m really on my way, I’m starting to relax a little. At least enough to be hungry. “What’re you doing all the way out here on your own, anyhow? It’s dangerous. You’re a farm kid, right? They usually got you driving tractors, but today you’re gonna go kick Kevin Bacon’s butt and show him what it really means to grow potatoes?”

“The sam hill?” Cal shakes his head and pushes his hat down a little more securely on his head. At least his hair will look good when he gets to whatever farm convention he’s going to. “Pal, you’re somethin’ else, lemme tell ya! I don’t got any potatoes, but I make this run a lot. Got orders near San Antonio for my daddy, and he doesn’t like goin’ hisself, on account of how long the drive is. But that’s what daddys got kids like you an’ me for, right? Raise us old enough, then hand over all the slob work.”

I shrug. My dad never did that, though I wasn’t old enough to do much more than take out the trash when he died. “I guess.”

“You guess? Your daddy don’t make you work?”

I bite into another chip, the taste familiar and good. I think about Dave lecturing me about vacuuming up Dorito crumbs from the couch, and Rose staring me down until I clean my room to her specific standards, and stifle a laugh. When something wet plops off my chin and patters onto the wrapper of the Doritos, I wonder if I’ve suddenly become a drooling mess.

Cal gapes, shocked into a flood of apologies. “Whoa, hey there, I was just askin’! Hey, hey, it’s okay, you don’t gotta tell nobody, okay?” He pushes a bandanna at me - an honest-to-God red bandanna, could he be any more of a hick? - and waves it like he’s flagging down a bull. “Here, buddy - Dirk - aw, fuck me sideways!”

I take it because I don’t know why I need it. I stare at it, and the wind dries the wet trails on my face into stiff tracks.

Jesus. I’m crying.

 I shove the cloth under my glasses and mop at my face, managing to keep my sniffling to a minimum. Tears are one thing, but I am _not_ blowing my nose on Cal’s hick-scarf, no matter how much I might need to. I have a perfectly good t-shirt for that. 

Which is gross, but who really cares? I want to, but I can’t even think anymore. It’s like I’m coming unraveled, and I don’t even know where the string starts. I’m so tired, so angry at Dave for making me like this, upset for missing him when he might not miss me. What if he doesn’t _want_ to come back?

Suddenly my sunglasses are gone. I jerk my head up, startled.

Cal has them in one hand, still held out toward me. “Sorry, thought it might be easier if they weren’t stabbin’ your face.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Haha, these are crazy shades, friend! You get these in the city?”

“Yeah.” I mean, technically I did.

“Cool." 

Cal keeps glancing at me, but there’s traffic ahead, and he has to fix his gaze on the highway. I’m grateful to the universe for sparing me further humiliating examination. 

"You know,” he says suddenly, “I think they add things to those chips. I saw a show about that on the news, yeah-boy. Additives. Screw you right up, that’s what they were sayin’.”

Aw, jeeze. He’s being nice to me now. I want to cry more, how’s that for proof that I’m perfectly fine? “Red number five, probably. All those benzoates and sulphites. Guess I’m allergic or… Um… sorry about the…” I gesture with the now-wet bandanna.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Keep it, I got more.” He releases my sunglasses when I reach for them. “Not to sound bossy or anythin’, but we got three more hours til we hit San Antonio. Why don'tcha catch a few Zs? Maybe it’d help that chip allergy calm down.”

My little outburst tired me out even more. My head hurts, and eyes feel gritty, like there’s sand beneath the lids. But sleeping in a stranger’s car is practically begging to be murdered. “That’d be rude, bro, I can’t do that. Thanks, though.”

“Okey-doke, however you like it, pal. But if you suddenly nod off, I won’t mind!” He winks broadly at me, like we’re sharing an awesome road trip adventure. The Hangover doesn’t have anything on two Texas boys headin’ for trouble, amirite?

And the sad part is, it’s not creepy at all. 


	15. pack it in

  * Dusk creeps over the cattle yard, ending another work day. The workers call good-byes to each other, go out to their trucks and drive away.
  * Dave thinks about Dirk, and waits.
  * The managers leave some time later, walking to the parking lot in the lavender gloom of twilight. They, too, get in their smaller cars and leave.
  * Dave crouches in the hay loft of the abandoned barn, warped wooden floor rough beneath even his bare feet, and runs his imagination over Dirk’s cheeks, his hair, his shoulders, his hands. He thinks about Dirk’s teasing smile, the terror in his eyes when Dave attacked him, and wonders why he ever thought he could raise a child safely.
  * The security guard makes his rounds, heavy footfalls thudding along the dirt paths, flashlight swinging across the yard, searching for cattle thieves. Finding nothing, he retreats back to the office to watch the security cameras and eat leftover donuts.
  * Dave stands. He leaves his clothes where they are downstairs, stretched out over old crates, drying in the Texas heat, and pushes the door to the hay loft open, pausing to gaze at the moon. Men have touched it, but for all its romantic attraction, it’s still unwelcoming. A beautiful, white, dead thing, where no human can live for long.
  * Dirk would punch him for being so melodramatic. Shaking his head, Dave steps from the hay loft and falls gracefully, silently, to the ground. Dirk and Rose are having dinner right about now; Dave can join them, in timing, at least. One more for the road.




	16. come out, come out

I wake up to darkness, my face pressed against the door frame, my mouth open and dry as fuck.

“Jesus,” I say, sitting up in Cal’s truck, “you let me sleep like that?”

Ca shrugs, grinning. “Hee hee, you were just too cute to wake up. ‘Sides, you’re up now, and that’s what matters.”

I rub my eyes and readjust my sunglasses, Cal barely an outline in the dark. “If I have any bugs in my teeth, you’re gonna be sorry. I’ll tell everyone on the internet that you let me swallow mosquitoes for – what time is it?”

“Eight oh five. Made it in record time, thanks to your Doritos.”

“Yeah, right.” I dig into my bag, pull out a bottle of water and crack it open. Seriously, my mouth tastes like old chips and Texas sand. I rinse and swallow, then glance out the window.

Nothing but darkness lies outside the truck, barely penetrated by a lone working street light somewhere off to my right.

I cap the water and slide it back into my bag, slowly. “Where are we?”

Cal leans over and peers out the windshield. “The Japanese Tea Garden, jus’ like it says on your map.”

“My – you went in my bag??”

“Yeah.” Cal shrugs apologetically. “You looked real tuckered out, and I didn’t wanna wake ya if I didn’t hafta. I just took a quick peek, that was all! This was on the paper you got in there. But, uh, I gotta say,” he added, taking another glimpse out the window, “I don’t think there’s a concert here.”

No shit. “It’s fine. This is the right place.” I pick up my bag, and I’m actually surprised when I press the button and my seat belt releases. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Dirk, hey, wait a tick.”Cal puts a hand on my arm, and I tense. He turns a little in his seat, moves his hand to push the brim of his hat up. “Man, I ain’t tryin’ to be nosy, but… are you in trouble? Ya need some help? ‘Cause this ain’t nowhere but an ol’ park, and it’s long past closing time.”

He’s right, that’s exactly what it is, but it’s where I need to be. I shake my head. “I know it looks stupid, but seriously, this is it. I – I’’m meeting someone here.”

Cal’s eyebrows go up, high and red and surprised. “You think so?”

“No,” I say firmly, “I know so. So it’s okay. You can go.” I open the door and slide out, my sneakers hitting the dirt-covered sidewalk, slipping a little. The light in the cab illuminates the crumpled chip packet and Cal, his red hair a dark brown in the dim glow, his mouth pulled down into a concerned frown that seems extremely out of place on his face.

“I think this ain’t the safest place for a meet-up, but…” Cal sighs. “All right, buddy. If this is where you gotta be, then stay alert and stay safe. You got yourself some protection if somethin’ happens?”

I nod and shut the door. “I got my cell phone.” And my knife. I pat the heavy metal door. “You go on. I’m fine.”

Cal shakes his head. “Okay, if you say so. But Dirk? I hope whoever you’re meeting knows how much trouble you went through to get here. I hope they treat you right.”

I glance behind me, toward the shadowy expanse of the park, the big tori gate looming up from the gloom to catch the light of the moon, and the far-away yellow lights of the parking lot on the other side. It’s the scariest thing I’ve seen in a while, but not because it’s dark. I turn back to Cal and give him the best, most reassuring smile I can muster. “I think he will.”

“Oooooh~!” Cal grins suddenly. “ ‘ _He’_? Why Dirk, I never woulda pegged you as the captain of the boys’ team!”

“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes. My smile feels more real, and I smack the truck door again. “Get out of here. You’ll scare him off.”

“I’m goin’.” He pushes the truck into gear with a thick  _clunk_ , then tugs his hat back down. “See ya around, pal. Good luck!”

I step back onto the sidewalk and wave. He waves back before he pulls away, truck engine rumbling. I stand at the entrance to the park, watching until the truck disappears around a corner, heading for the main road. Eventually, the engine noise dies away, and I look over my shoulder at the big gate.

The thing is creepy as fuck. You’d think a public park would have more lights than this, even if it’s not open right now, but apparently this place needs to be as spooky as possible to keep troublesome kids from invading the stone-and-moss sanctuary. Maybe after this, I’ll become a safety advocate and get the local city council to be more proactive and put some goddamn torches up.

Until then, I’m stuck with the darkness.

I shoulder my backpack, tug my shirt down, and try to fix my hair. I get my phone ready, putting it in my pocket in case I get lost or need the flashlight app. I think about the map, and the all the dead animals it took to get me here.

Then I finally stop stalling.

One big breath in, one exhale, and I head into the park, [passing through the gate and following the stony staircase that lies beyond. ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fstatic.thousandwonders.net%2FSan.Antonio.Japanese.Tea.Garden.original.17370.jpg&t=NDViNWViMGNhNzcxNGMyYTNiNjdhMDMxYjU4M2MwNDk3NmRlNmZlMSxCT0pYeVhDUw%3D%3D)


	17. that went well

  * Dave dresses with care, knowing he smells like hay and clothes dried on the line, but it won’t matter in a few hours. He’ll be out in hick country, with people that are more like his parents and sisters were than anyone else in these modern times.
  * He’s not looking forward to it.
  * He bids the barn goodbye with little regret, because fuck a place that doesn’t have cable, and heads down to the manager’s office. His entrance is intentionally timed to coincide with security guard’s hourly rounds, and he slips in behind the man, goes to the phone and picks up the receiver. There’s a sharp pain where his heart is, but he ignores it and dials Rose’s number. He’s not nervous. He’s doing his duty. There’s nothing wrong with putting things in order before he goes.
  * Rose picks up, and before he can say more than who he is, she talks right over him.
  * “Dirk is missing. He won’t answer my calls, or he can’t, and – You will _fix_ this, Dave. You will find my boy, because if one of your Abyss-cursed enemies hurts him, I swear by everything living that there won’t be a single place on the Goddess’ earth that doesn’t cast you out and spit on your shadow for the rest of your _days_.”




	18. map quest

To say this place is “creepy” would be calling the bottom of the Mariana Trench “dark”.

I walk as carefully as I can, but when I’m about fifty feet along the steps, they veer to the right, and I’m out of view of that one streetlamp that was keeping me from thinking I’ve become the main character in the opening of an episode of Supernatural. The path becomes darker than even I can take, and I push my shades up on my forehead, staring hard at the walkway. The moon is bright overhead, and better than nothing, but I’m not a cat or a vampire, and nothing is pretty much what I have in the way of visibility. I keep going, hoping to make progress, but I’m risking more than not finding Dave: I’m risking a broken leg before I even get close. A short, squat sort of building appears at the end of the steps, and I stop. Time to reassess. I pull out my phone.

I unlock it, and the screen almost blinds me before it scales itself back to accommodate for the seriously low light. The phone tells me that Cal was right, it’s not even nine yet, but the top of the screen is lined with notifications. Texts from Rose, missed calls from Rose. Voice mails from Rose. Lots of ‘em. I scowl, suddenly irritated, and dismiss them all in a couple of swipes.

Fuck Rose.

Okay not really, but sort of really. She wouldn’t help me, I had to lie to her to come out here, and now she wants to know where I am, what I’m doing, when I’m coming home.

“You know where I am?” I mutter to my phone. “I’m getting Dave. That’s where I am.” It’s my job now instead of ‘our’ job. She can live with her selfishness – and wow, won’t she feel stupid as hell when I bring him back.

But first things first. I gotta find Dave, who he doesn’t want to be found, and I have to do it before he decides I can’t possibly be Dirk, Dirk is at home four hours away, so I must be a lost gazelle that needs draining.

I flip the flashlight on, and suddenly the whole path is awash in highbeam-level light. Some small animals go skittering off, nothing that sounds big. Probably lizards. Maybe squirrels. Raccoons?

Shit, raccoons are fucking huge. I have to get this over with and get out of here before something that isn’t my vampiric big brother and can’t be reasoned with finds me, rips out my liver and drags me back to its den to feed its cubs.

I take another look around, sweeping the phone’s light over everything. Water glints to my left, an ornamental lake or pond, wide and black, reflecting the moon. I think about Japanese moon-viewing parties, and bet they aren’t anything like this.

“Dave? It’s Dirk! Get out here, I need to talk to you!”

I wait. There’s no answer but the silencing of the crickets. The quiet after that is more creepy than just the darkness. I keep going, turning right, crossing over a stone bridge toward the next big structure. It’s some kind of pagoda, tall and wide and as freaky as the rest of this place. It’s probably a perfect hiding spot for an obstinate relative.

I jog a little, making noise with my feet, not trying to be stealthy.  “Dave! Seriously, man, I know you’re here! Come on!”

The pagoda-like-thing is closer than I thought, and I slow as I take the first steps beneath its immense roof. Now that I’m inside it, I can tell it looks more like a pavilion, with [a flat concrete floor that rises above the rest of the garden, the roof supported by weird white arches that are probably made of rock, ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fcdn.shutterbug.com%2Fimages%2Fstyles%2F960-wide%2Fpublic%2Fphotopost%2Fdata%2F500%2F9831ChineseTeaGardenSanAntonio3.jpg%3Fitok%3DG4E-eCvz&t=ZmEwNjg3MzM1MzM3ZTViNjE4NGY3ODM4Mjk0ZWIwYjczMWFmZWJlZCxUTGVDVkFudA%3D%3D)but in the gloom and the bouncing light of my phone, seem like something dredged up from the catacombs of Paris. 

Damn, who allowed this thing to be built? The same guy who commissioned the Temple of Doom?

I flash my light upward at the support beams for the roof, but there’s nothing up there besides a couple of rats. I turn in a slow circle, anxious, and maybe a little afraid. This is the right place, I know it is. I was extremely careful, I studied every piece of data. This _has_ to be it.

“This isn’t funny, Dave! You’re being a real shit right now, you know that?” I flash my light across the cement, walk carefully around the white rock (bone) pillars and peer out into the gardens below. “Dave! I know you can hear me!”

“Dave’s not here, man,” someone says behind me. 

A fine line of ice shoots up my spine. I spin on my heel, my light swinging with me. The beam catches the figure, illuminates the last person – thing – I ever wanted to see again. My throat closes up.

“Ambrose,” I whisper.

He grins at me, looking exactly like he did four years ago, gloves wrapping his hands, sunglasses like black voids against his pale skin – where did he get those? He had more made? I have the only pair, except I _don’t_ – but his polo shirt is a gleaming white instead of Blockbuster blue. White spotted with something black, something wet. 

“I ain’t Dave, but I can hear you just fine. Maybe I can take care of your business, kid.” He spreads his gloved hands wide and shrugs. “Whaddaya say?”


	19. awol

  * Rose’s words run over Dave like an avalanche, crushing and bruising. _She doesn’t know where Dirk is. He hasn’t come home. He doesn’t answer his phone. He’s missing and it’s dark and she’s afraid._
  * Rose doesn’t use the word ‘afraid’. 
  * He thinks GPS. He thinks commercials about “family plans”, perfect for the parents who want to have their children on a leash 24/7, who don’t trust their own kids, who live in fear that their child may be sucked into a vortex or abducted by aliens at the drop of a hat.
  * Even after all he’s seen of the world, he didn’t want to be that kind of parent. He wanted Dirk to have freedom, to have his trust. It felt important.
  * Now it feels like nothing but carelessness and conceit. Patting himself on the back before he’s even finished the job he assigned to himself.
  * He asks Rose to stop, to calm down. He asks her to call the police. And he asks her to use her magic. Find Dirk. Go to him.
  * “It doesn’t _work_ like that. I can’t find his exact location. He’s south, but I don’t know how south. There are white arches, and water, and Chinese tea – Dave? Dave, don’t hang up, tell me where you’re going!”




	20. right time, wrong place

“No,” I say, shaking my head. I keep my light on him, squinting when it reflects off his sunglasses and flashes into my eyes. “No, leave me alone. What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” He laughs as he walks, and his laugh is warm and soothing, like a snuggly blanket or my mother’s hug, and it creeps me the fuck out. “I dunno if you noticed, ya little shit, but I’m a vampire. We live in the dark. Normal humans don’t. They don’t come to places like this –” He gestures with one broad sweep of his muscled arm. “– not if they can help it. Not unless they’re lookin’ for trouble.”

His smile is knowing, oily. He’s still walking, circling me, trying to get around behind me. “Izzat what you’re doin’, brat? Lookin’ for trouble? ‘Cause I think you found it.”

“No,” I say again, moving back, keeping him in front of me, caught in my light. I can’t breathe. My heart is slamming against my ribs. I only have a knife. “Stay away from me. You’re not supposed to be here. It’s not you, I wasn’t looking for you.”

He shrugs, shoulders rippling far too smoothly, unnaturally. “And yet here I am. Gotta admit, if ya weren’t out ta get me, endin’ up here was a pretty stupid move on your part.”

I consider killing him. I do. But he’s faster, bigger, and I don’t have a weapon. The knife and the phone won’t do jack shit to someone like him. I don’t have a lighter or holy water or garlic or any of that crap. I didn’t bring any because I didn’t want to scare Dave. I didn’t want to drive him away right when we first saw each other again.

“Go away,” I try, putting every ounce of authority I can into my voice. I think about Rose, and magic, and how she drove Ambrose off once before. Maybe I can do that, too. “Go away. Begone. I banish thee, or however I get rid of you.”

Ambrose chuckles and saunters forward and to the right.  I turn and back up, trying to think of an escape plan. “You’re kinda cute, for a maggot. But I don’t much like bugs, so… “ He smiles again, and it’s not warm. It’s not cuddly. It’s cold, icy, sharp, and my bladder tightens in response. 

“You’re gonna hafta go for good, little man. Now brace yourself: I ain’t gonna make it easy.”


	21. omw

  * Dave leaves the receiver swinging from its knotted spiral cord, banging gently against the metal desk for the security guard to find later, and be puzzled by.
  * Outside, he takes to the air. He knows where the place where Dirk is, but he doesn’t know why he’s there. Panicked thoughts whip through his mind as violently as the wind tears at his hair and rips at his clothes, the air rushing past a thunderous roar in his ears.  _Runaway. Kidnapped. Captive_.
  * _Bro_.
  * There’s no reason for his older brother to be involved. Bro hasn’t been seen for four years. He’s got a fifty-year schedule, and he isn’t about to show up out of the blue a measly half decade later when there’s too great a chance that things haven’t changed, and an even greater chance of Dave telling him to please go away. (Even if stuff has changed. Even if it’s been ruined by the monster inside of Dave.) Bro doesn’t even _like_ Dave. He only comes by to flex his muscles and prove how much better he still is, still stronger and smarter. It’s an obsession with him, being The Older Brother. Dave thinks it’s the only reason Bro eventually followed Dave to America. A big game of One Upped You, Little Man.
  * But something pricks at the back of Dave’s mind, a feeling almost like a tug or a pinch, and he knows that denying Bro’s presence is wishful thinking. Whoever has Dirk, whatever their plan, Bro is invovled.
  * And Dirk may be running out of time.




	22. splashdown

The fucker has his hands in his pockets. He’s creeping up on me like a cat stalking a fledgling that’s fallen out of the nest, eager to show the baby bird what a giant mistake he’s made, but he’s got his hands in his motherfucking pockets like it’s nothing. Like taking me down isn’t even worth preparing for.

I hate him. 

I remember what he did, and how what he did made me hurt Dave, and I hate him so much that my heart slows to a roll, and my lungs expand with fresh, damp air.

Ambrose stops six feet away, appraising my new state, tasting it like a fucking snake. His smile sinks into something thoughtful, bland. His sunglasses flash the white from my phone back at me.

“Y’know,” he drawls, “maybe I don’t gotta kill ya. I could Turn you instead. Make you a vampire like me an’ Dave.”

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, but my heart skips a beat. I hear it, he hears it. I’m not fooling anyone. “Fuck you.”

He starts walking again, slowly, so slowly. “You’d like that, right? Live forever? Have all the time in the world?”

He doesn’t say Be with Dave, but it hangs in the air between us, pendulous, heavy.

I back up and my heel finds nothing at all, the ball of my foot on a sharp edge. I glance down, and there’s no more cement. There’s just a drop behind me, a two-story fall into a lake that gleams like an oil slick.

I jerk my gaze up and he’s right in front of me. His gloved hands - _I remember them, I remember them_ \- grab the front of my t-shirt, and yank me toward him. I gasp, I admit it, I’m wussing out. The fear I thought was gone flares up, burns like ice, and I bring up my leg, try to plant it between us, kick him, spring away, God, Dirk, do _something_ –

\- and a blur hurtles into him like the bus from Final Destination, literally knocking him flying.

And since he still has hold of me, I go, too.

Whiplash snaps my neck to the side and drags me right off the edge of the raised pavilion, out into dark, open air. I catch a glimpse of blond hair over Ambrose’s shoulder, a jacket I think I recognize. I take a breath to shout but it’s too late. We hit into the lake at a million miles an hour and the icy water slams shut over my head, Ambrose’s hands still locked on my shirt.


	23. full knowledge

  * Bro shoots out of the lake faster than a cat dumped in an ice bath, and Dave follows.
  * The water catches and drags at his limbs like thick mud, sucks at whatever soul he has left like metaphysical quicksand. It’s river-fed and moving, it’s the natural source of life, and it doesn’t care for vampires.
  * Dirk flounders to the surface, breaking through with a gasp, eyes huge in his pale face. He coughs and tries to call out as Dave explodes from the water, thrusting one hand toward Dave’s rapidly receding form, but he gets only an ersatz rain in response. 
  * Dave doesn’t stop, couldn’t if he wanted to. The fury he’s ignited in Dave is overpowering, demanding. Bro’s dared to lay his murderous hands on Dirk _again_ , and Dave will not – _cannot_ – forget it.
  * He pulls his sword from the same place that shape-shifters hide their clothes when they change. The katana comes to his hand with easy familiarity, and he closes his wet fingers around its silk-wrapped grip. Before they can leave, he has to make Bro understand that Dirk is off-limits. Make him see that he can’t touch Dave’s adopted  brother ever, ever again.
  * And make him regret doing it in the first place.




	24. push on

I kick hard, pushing against the water, but I’m floundering. I know how to swim, I’ve been to the beach, but this is different. My shoes are lead weights, hauling me back under. My backpack is a rock, pushing me down. My clothes are water-logged and clingy, my jeans tangling around my legs. I surface, see Dave, but it’s just a glimpse and then he’s gone. He leaves me.

I sink.

It’s so cold. The water is frigid, the bottom of the lake silt and soft. I twist, struggling out of my backpack. I push at my shoes, tug at the laces, but they won’t come off. My chest is burning, I can’t see. Something pulls at my hair, and I swat at it, frightened. My hand hits plastic, hard and sharp, and I remember Ambrose’s old sunglasses. They were on my forehead, now they’re caught by the nose-piece in my bangs. I yank them out of my hair, hold them tight, and shove off the mucky bottom of the lake as hard as I can, shoes and all.

I break through to clean air and suck in a breath, ready to sink again, but I don’t. Losing the backpack was enough. That’ll teach anyone who ever tells me to pack extra clothes. Thank God my laptop wasn’t in that fucking thing, or I’d be dead and really, really pissed.

I swim toward the bank, and halfway there embarrassment kicks in. The ground rises up to meet me, a steep slope I trip on, and I realize the lake can’t be more than ten, maybe twelve feet deep. I guess twelve is enough when you’re only 5’6”, but it still feels stupid. I stagger up onto the grass, over the decorative rocks, and drop to all fours, panting. Water drips off my hair, off my clothes, puddling beneath me as I take stock.

My phone is gone, my stuff is gone. The knife. All I have left are Ambrose’s sunglasses and my clothes. I could strip and go back in the lake, but finding my stuff in the black water is impossible. I clench my teeth, jaw aching. How am I supposed to help Dave when I have nothing?

… I don’t know, either, but I can’t just lay here. 

With a soft groan, I push myself up, already starting to shiver. The heat of the day is long gone, and the night is cooling off fast. I gotta find Dave, I gotta get us out of here, and I gotta do it now. But how?

“DAVE!” I shout, then cough. Scowling, I try it again. “ _DAVE_! Where are you?!”

There’s no answering shout, but there’s a crash across the lake, by the trees. Good enough.

“I’m coming!” I holler.

A hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and strong. “You all alone, pal?”

Okay, I admit it again: I scream.


	25. that's the way

Dave’s nuts. He’s gone off the deep end. Which would explain the lake - how’s that for a pun? - but Christ on a cracker, the kid is taking all this way too seriously.

And Bro didn’t even _do_ anything.

Dave comes at him with his sword drawn, already swinging, and Bro barely dodges, juking to the left in mid-air, pirouetting away like a goddamn ballerina. He spins a neat 360, and when Dave launches toward him again, Bro has his own sword, bright and silver and gleaming in the moonlight. He slices downward, right at his brother’s head, but Dave parries, slams the blade away and ripostes like he’s the 5th motherfuckin’ Musketeer.

Bro grins. He’s drenched and soggy, his hair slaps wetly against his face, his glasses are spotty - and he’s amused as hell.

“Jesus, Davey,” he calls through the wind, flying backward, upward, fending off Dave’s overly-zealous attacks with practiced ease. Their old, perfectly-forged weapons strike each other over and over, the sounds of their small battle ringing like bells through the empty park below, off the trees and the hills. “If all I hadda do t’ get you goin’ was muss up your little doll, I woulda done that years ago!”

Dave’s eyes flash. His sunglasses are gone, lost in the lake or the park, and his eyes are the molten red of lava. He doesn’t say anything, he only attacks harder, faster.

Bro dodges again, and he actually has to expend some energy this time.


	26. show him

  * Dave’s stomach is a churning ball of fire and acid. He can’t speak, there’s no words for how much he wants to slice Bro into ribbons.
  * _You touched my kid. You touched my goddamn fucking kid._
  * Bro laughs when Dave feints right. Bro doesn’t fall for it, but Dave’s sword goes one way while Dave’s foot goes another. He kicks Bro in the knee, and the resulting snap of bone distracts Bro enough to let Dave slice through his calf. Blood flows, pink and opalescent, vampire blood, but even the smell of it doesn’t give Dave pause. He thinks of Dirk, of Bro’s hands on Dirk’s shirt, and cuts toward Bro’s guts.
  * Bro drops like a stone, his sword a lightning flash through the air. His reach is incredible, impossibly long. The blade scrapes Dave alongside his head, cuts through his ear and part of his scalp. Blood mingles with water and both run over his eyes, each fluid just as cold as the other.
  * His brother glides lower, toward the trees on the opposite side of the lake, teeth bared in a fierce grin. 
  * “Good job, little man! We’re flyin’, so, y'know, legs aren’t that important, but hey, you landed a hit! I knew you could do it if ya tried. Now that we’re one-for-one, y'oughta show me whatcha _really_ got.“ 




	27. almost th-

They’re over the trees now, swords shearing the topmost leaves, blades flashing like the backs of startled fish in the moonlit lake, darting in and out, faster than human eyes can follow. They cleave through skin, break bones, inflict wounds that heal almost instantly. Pink blood, drained of life and as pale and lustrous as vampire flesh is to a human, stains their clothes, leaves reflective tracks on their skin. 

Dave doesn’t let up for even a minute. Pounding, chopping, tireless and feral. He wants Bro hurt. Wants him to suffer.

It’s fuckin’ exhilarating.

“Faster!” Bro says encouragingly. “C'mon, slowpoke! Can’t stop nobody movin’ like that!”

Dave swings, his sword whiffing through the air where Bro used to be.

Bro snickers and drops down into the trees without rustling so much as a leaf. “Watch out for all the wood, little man. Don’t wanna get hurt.” Look at that, helpful even in the middle of a family tiff. Is that big brother behavior, or what?

Dave doesn’t appreciate it. He scrabbles at the smaller branches, breaks through the tangles of big twigs. Leaves scatter, bark flies through the air. He stabs instead of swinging, drives his sword in too late. He clenches his jaw when he misses and jumps after Bro, following him from tree to tree.

This is some ninja-level squirrel shit right here. It’s amazing how far Dave’s abilities have come in such a short time. Maybe Bro oughta let Dave bond with more humans. Taking them away speeds up his progress quicker than spurs to a horse. He’s still kinda predictable, but that’s okay. Bro’s here to make sure Dave gets the coaching he so obviously needs.

“Doin’ real good, Davey.” Jump, land. “Got me an idea.” Drop, bounce. It’s just like when he taught Dave to milk their cow, He was so scared of that thing, it was hilarious. “Why don'tcha leave the kid like you were gonna, an’ you an’ me can go have some fun? He’s just gonna die on ya anyway.”

Bro’s not even using his sword now. He’s letting the trees take the blow, watching each hit dull Dave’s sword, notching the blade. Tch. “You’re gonna ruin it if ya keep on smackin’ it around l –”


	28. self defense

I’m so scared that I don’t even think. Dave’s training takes over, and even without a sword, I go from high-school freshman to World’s Deadliest Warrior in one pants-wetting moment of terror.   
  
I spin away from the hand, ducking and swinging the fastest elbow I ever threw. It hits the man’s head – it’s gotta be a man, no woman says ‘pal’ – at the same time my foot smashes between his legs, a pile driver turning his nutsack into Skippy.  
  
The guy - _\- it was a guy,_ my brain crows, _I knew it!_ – chokes. Soundlessly, he topples over onto his knees and faceplants onto the grass, hands over his now-pulped family jewels. His hat falls off and rolls to the side, exposing fire-engine-red hair to the moonlight  
  
“Oh, shit,” I gasp. “Cal??”


	29. hash it out

The agony explodes in Bro’s mind like a flash grenade, blocking out everything else. He stumbles, surprised, and almost slips from the bough he’s landed on. It’s an even bigger surprise when Dave runs him through, katana sliding between Bro’s ribs and deep into the tree trunk behind him, pinning Bro to it as effectively as a butterfly to a mounting board.

Bro gapes. He grabs the katana’s handle, meaning to yank it out, but it hardly moves, barely wiggles in his grip. It’s in too deep, and he’s lost too much blood. He needs to feed again.

He blinks and looks up at Dave.

His little brother is standing on the same sturdy bough, his hair almost white in the darkness, the same base color as his ruined button-up shirt. He is eyes are still red, but they’re crimson instead of firey, wide and disbelieving.

“Good shot,” Bro says. He draws in a breath and coughs up more of that precious, pale blood. He doesn’t need air to live, he needs blood. He needs air to speak, though, and lungs aren’t at their best when they’ve got fuckin’ holes in ‘em. “Knew you could do it.”

Dave’s brow furrows. The feral anger is leaking out of him, just like the blood is leaving Bro, cooling and seeping. “I have to go.”

Bro raises his eyebrows. “Oh, he speaks!” It does, but i’s hard for Bro. The sword is a rod of pain through his chest. His body strains to heal around it, to eject it. His lungs ache, and the next breath he takes in gurgles faintly. “You don’t gotta go, little man. You got what it takes now. You an’ me, we can hang.”

There’s a pun there, that’s funny ‘cause of the tree, but Dave doesn’t catch it.

“No.” His little brother shakes his head. “I can’t. I… I can’t. He needs me.”

“He doesn’t need you,” Bro snorts. “He’s got her. Besides, I care more about what _you_ need. You need to be with your family.”

Dave frowns. “He _is_ my family.”

“ _I’m_ your family.” Bro’s starting to lose his good humor. Something’s happened to Cal, he felt it, and now Bro is trapped. He can’t help Cal and he can’t help himself. This is not how a grown man handles himself. “I’m your family, not him. He’s just 600 years’ worth of chance!”

“I _can’t_ ,” Dave says again, and Bro knows he doesn’t mean ‘hang out’. He means something else, something Bro won’t like when he realizes what it is.

He doesn’t want to realize it.

Bro rests an arm on the sword. It hurts, but not much more, and it looks cool. “You can’t keep him like a little doll, you know that right?”

“I’m not –”

“He’s gonna grow. He’s gonna change. Yeah, he’s crazy-in-teen-love with you now, call out Dr Phil, but what happens when he’s older?”

Dave flushes. “He isn’t –”

“Oh, c’mon, Davey, like you’re that stupid? I know you’re fuckin’ oblivious to anything that ain’t your angst, but you gotta have noticed. The kid practically jizzes his pants anytime he’s around you. He’s the poster child for underage romance. Lolito, the Little Boy Who Wanted Your Dick –”

“Shut up!”

“Dave?!”

The call comes from somewhere on the ground, still by the lake, but it won’t stay there. Bro can hear footsteps. He’s running out of time.

“Don’t,” he says quickly, voice low. “This is us we’re talkin’ about, little man. You an’ me, together forever. We’re bros, right? Right?”

Dave’s expression screws up, falls in on itself in an odd, wrenching way. He grabs the nearest branch, another stout one, and rips it off the tree with a crack.


	30. call high

“Shit,” I say, and then say it again, because I’m babbling. “Shit, I’m sorry. Uh. Are you - no, you’re probably not. Okay. Okay. Um – what’re you –”

The sword noises stop, the ringing that sounded like Hollywood’s idea of samurai, and I look across the lake, at the last place I saw any glint of anything that wasn’t darkness and shadow. I strain my eyes, my ears, but I get nothing.

“Dave??” I call suddenly, the fear swelling, filling my guts til they’re as cold as the lake. I take a step toward the trees, my knees stiff.

Cal makes the softest groan I’ve ever heard. It ought to keep me next to him, I owe him that much, but all it does is reassure me that he’s alive. He’s breathing,  and there’s no blood. He’ll live.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell him. I go to pat his back, then change my mind. Any vibrations would probably hurt right now. “Stay here. Don’t follow me. I’ll come back. Okay?” I back up, watching him. He doesn’t move. Don’t follow me? Ha, he’ll be lucky if he can stand up. “Okay, good. I’ll … I’m sorry.”

I turn, breaking into a run. The night air cuts through my wet clothes, and my soaked jeans chafe the insides of my thighs. I run headlong down the weird cement paths and up the carved rock stairs, trampling hedges and small plants. I hear a crack, a snap as loud as ice breaking or a trap closing, and I speed up, risking my ankles in my panic.

“Dave! Where are you?! Dave!”


	31. don't make me

  * Dirk’s footsteps are rapidly closing in. He calls to Dave, louder than before, even though he’s got to know it’s dangerous. Dave adjusts his grip on the broken branch he holds, the bark cold and rough against his hand. He has to hurry.
  * He doesn’t want to do this in front of Dirk.
  * Dave steps closer, the bough bobbing slightly beneath his weight. Bro doesn’t say anything. He’s not even watching Dave. His gaze is fixed fifty feet away, on the ground, probably waiting for Dirk to come into view so Bro can convince Dirk to fuck off.
  * It’s hard to look at Bro and realize that Dave means to hurt him. He’s never wanted to hurt Bro, not really. Not beyond any normal family squabbles. Bro followed Dave to America. Bro kept himself locked in a box for weeks just so they could be on the same continent. He’s helped Dave, shown him how to use his powers, how to hunt and how to hide. He’s comforted Dave when things went wrong.
  * … Sometimes, Bro was why things went wrong.
  * Dave wonders whether he and his older brother would’ve been better friends if Dave had understood Bro. Even now, he doesn’t know what Bro wants, beyond being near each other; he can’t comprehend Bro’s interests, and Bro can’t or won’t try his. Dave wishes there was some other way to handle the situation, because once he goes through with his plan, it’ll change things between them. Damage them, maybe forever. But he doesn’t know what else to do. 
  * “I’m leaving. _We’re_ leaving. I don’t… I don’t want to see you again." 




	32. swing away

Bro looks up. Dave has his ‘serious’ face on. He’s always been dramatic. He likes to make big, sweeping statements, like he’s on some big cosmic stage. Gotta put on a show for whoever’s watching.

His performance should be for an audience of one, because Dave is talking to Bro, but Bro knows he’s not the one Dave is preaching to. His little brother is thinking about Dirk. He’s showing off for the brat, and to solidify Dave’s own resolve. Trying to convince himself he’s taking a stand against something, though Bro has no idea what that something is. There’s nothing left for Dave to rail against.

Bro shrugs and lets one side of his mouth quirk up. He’s not upset. Dave’s finally, _finally_ reached his potential. This is a happy fucking day. “I can wait.”

Dave’s brows meet, scrunched up like he might cry. His fingers lift then curl around the base of the big stick he’s holding. Little man can’t decide whether he wants to threaten Bro or not. He’s come a long way, but he still needs some spit and polish. “Don’t follow me this time, Bro. I mean it.”

“Welp,” Bro drawls, amused, “can’t promise nothin’. Family belongs together, little man. Can’t help that.”

“I can try,” Dave says. He grabs the branch with both hands and swings it like a fucking baseball bat.


	33. up, up, and away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (madragingven made me use that title)

There’s a thud somewhere up above me, somewhere I can’t see. I skid to a halt on the cement path, but before I can take a step onto the grass, Dave drops out of the sky, landing in front of me without so much as a bounce.

“We have to go,” he says.

He looks exactly like he did three weeks ago, minus the sunglasses and plus some blood splatter. Of course he does, why shouldn’t he look the same? He’s a vampire. He doesn’t age. His hair will always be that pale wheat color. His eyes will always be some shade of red velvet. He’ll always be twenty-three and model-perfect.

And he’ll always steal my breath, I know he will.

… Jesus fuck I’m in trouble.

“Are you okay?” I ask weakly. It’s only partly the shock of finally seeing Dave, and him seeing me. I’m not so out of shape that I can’t run a couple of blocks, but y’know, that whole fear-of-death thing had my heart going pretty good. And now that I’m not running, the night air is sucking my body heat right through my wet clothes. “Where’s Ambrose? And what happened to you? You’re bleeding.”

Something flickers across Dave’s face, some ripple of emotion he tries to erase as soon as it happens. I do him a favor and don’t try to read it. Whatever happened just now, whatever that noise was, I don’t think Dave wants to talk about it. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” I say, shivering. “Um – fine, right, yeah, okay. Well, I don’t have a car. I got a ride here. There’s a truck –“

“We don’t have time.” Dave steps close, reaching for me. “Where’s your bag –“

I back up without thinking. His naked eyes flash more emotions I’m not supposed to see, although these are easy to figure out. He’s hurt, or worried, or both. I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to say anything too personal. I can ask later. Right now, I need to chill out, let Dave do things his way. If I scare him off, I’ll hate myself forever. “I don’t have my bag. I lost it when you dumped us in the lake. I lost my phone. Are we going home?”

He frowns. “No. We can’t go home. We’re going to California.”

I stare. “California? Did you just – What the fuck are we going there for?”

“Dirk. Please. I’ll tell you on the way. But we have to go.” He holds his arm out. “I’ll take us. We don’t need a car.”

More staring. “You’re gonna _fly_ us? You serious?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, then shrugs, his voice hopeful. “You used to like it.”

We haven’t flown anywhere since I was ten. That was almost five years ago, and now Dave wants me to pick me up like a motherfucking princess, cradle me in his strong arms, and whisk me off to a magical land where animated mice talk and Chris Pratt and Mark Zuckerberg walk the streets in the Famous-People-Only lanes.

“All right, sure,” I say, shrugging.

I’m so easy it’s beyond embarrassing.

I don’t know if it’s the response he’s hoping for, but it’s permission, and it’s all he really wants. He scoops me up like I’m weightless. He holds me tight, cradled against his chest exactly like I knew he would. I put my arms around his neck, one hand gripping his shirt, the other holding tight to Ambrose’s old sunglasses. Dave won’t drop me, I know that, but I want to hug him so much that I can’t stop myself. I’m suddenly glad all my shit’s at the bottom of a lake. No interruptions.

“It’ll be cold,” he warns me. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop as soon as we get close to the airport. We’ll call Rose there, get you some dry clothes.”

“Airport?” I ask, but he takes off. He’s Superman, I’m Lois Lane, and no-one ever mentions the wind-chill in situations like this, or the air rushing by, drowning out all other sound and freezing your ears off. No-one warns you that your arms will go numb and your nose will run like a crying baby’s.

I bury my face in Dave’s shoulder, shivering harder. He holds me tighter. I hope this doesn’t take too long – and at the same time, I hope it takes forever.


	34. forced march

Rose gets the call just at the moment she’s decided to alert the police. Dirk is out there, possibly in danger, and Dave is taking too long. Damn any secrets that Dave might have; he can see to keeping them on his own. After what he pulled, how he hurt Dirk, he can fend for himself. She picks up her phone, but just as she’s about to unlock it, it rings in her hand, startling her with the accompanying buzzing vibration. _Unknown Number_.

She swipes a finger across the screen, answering with a snap. “This had better be you, Dave.”

His voice says _Don’t kill me_ , and he’s right to sound that way. She certainly wants to slap him, punch him for what he’s caused.. "It is, it is. This is my number for a while, okay? Sorry I couldn’t call sooner, I lost my phone in the –”

“I don’t care about your phone!” Rose tightens her grip on her phone, worry turning to fear, heavy and cold in her guts. “Where is he? Did you find him? Goddess damn you, David Strider, if you lost him –”

“No, Rose, he’s here, he’s with me. He’s fine. Well – a little wet, but fine. I swear.”

She scowls, trying not to let him off the hook simply because she’s so overwhelmingly relieved. “What in the nine hells do you mean, ‘wet’? Let me speak to him. Now!”

“Yeah, okay.”  
  
There’s muffled noises of the phone being handed over, then Dirk’s voice, his precious voice, saying, “Um, hey, Rose. Don’t get mad, I’m all in one piece. Sorry for not telling you where I was going. But I found Dave!”

Found Dave? She’s at a loss. Dirk doesn’t know? Dave didn’t tell him he was searching for him? 

She shouldn’t be surprised. Dave is an expert at noncommunication.

“I’m proud of you, dear,” she says, struggling to find the appropriate words. She doesn’t want to squash his achievement, false though it is. He was searching for Dave, and now Dave is with him. It’s enough for the moment. “Why are you wet?"

"There was a lake. It was no big deal, it wasn't deep. I got out fine."

"That's wonderful. You’re a brave, resourceful young man.”

“I guess,” Dirk says, sounding shy suddenly. “I mean, thank you –”

“And you’re in the such a large amount of trouble that you won’t have to worry about school ever again, because you’re going to be grounded until you’re eighteen.”

“What?!” he squawks indignantly. “No, Rose, that’s not fair! I found Dave, and I shouldn’t have lied to you, but I knew where he was, and you weren’t gonna –”

His voice fades suddenly, the phone jostled. She can hear Dave reprimanding him, – “That’s enough, not here.” – and Dirk muttering expletives beneath his breath.

Dave comes back on, his tone urgent. “I’m taking him to California, Rose.”

Her jaw drops. “What?”

“It’s the safest place right now. I want you to meet us there.”

“What are you –? Dave, no! He needs to come _home_. You can’t drag him across the country, I won’t allow it! You were supposed to locate him and bring him back, not kidnap him!”

“I know, I’m sorry! I wish I didn’t have to, but I don’t have a choice. We had some – some problems earlier. I’ll reimburse you for the ticket, don’t worry. Get the next flight to LAX. Grab whatever you can of his that’s important, and yours, and get out of there.”

“No!” She smacks her hand on the kitchen counter, wishing she could slap Dave instead. “What on earth is going on? What difficulty? What did you _do_?”

He pauses, and the lack of feeling in his voice tells her how hard he’s struggling to keep himself calm. She can’t imagine what he’s done, or to whom, because she’s fine and Dirk is in one piece, and they’re the only ones Dave seems to attack lately. What could send him running all the way to the West Coast? 

“I made sure Bro can’t follow us for tonight.”

“Ambrose?” Her heart locks up, skips in an ugly way. “Ambrose had him?”

“He’s fine now, I swear on your Goddess that Dirk is  _fine_. I’ll explain more when we see you. Please, Rose, I’m sorry about before, it won’t happen again, but you need to leave. Please come meet us. For Dirk.”

“C’mon Rose,” Dirk pleads, raising his voice to be heard from the sidelines. “It’s okay, Dave is back. You gotta come so you can ground me!”

She would have gone to Dirk no matter where he was, but finding out Ambrose was involved seals the deal. She won’t ever leave Dirk alone or lacking defense, not ever. She glances around the apartment with resignation, already cataloging the items she needs to bring.

“…All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. You’ve really managed to make a mess of things, Dave. I hope you can clean it up.” She hangs up and goes to her purse. She’s going to need her credit card.


	35. the last cowboy

Cal wakes up in a mud puddle made with his own spit, his groin aching and his head throbbing even worse. He pushes up onto his arms, then, slowly, to his feet, wobbling slightly. Gingerly, he touches his scalp, investigating the part that’s more tender than a losin’ racehorse’s rear end. He didn’t think Dirk got him in the head, but maybe he was kicked while he was down. There’s nothin’ to find, though; no bumps or cuts, and when he examines his fingers in the moonlight, they’re clean. No blood.

Prob’ly means the hurt ain’t his.

He scoops up his hat and puts it on, expecting it to be too big for his swollen noggin, but it ain’t. Sighing, he centers himself, pushing the pain of his pummeled testicles out of his mind. He listens to the faint hum deep down in his brain, runs his senses over it.

A-yuh. There’s the fuck-up.

He heads down the path, across the lake and over the small hills. He moves past the boundaries of rocks and carefully-placed bricks, onto the sparse grass. A few more steps, and he’s under the tall trees. He stops at the foot of a particularly old, wide tree and tilts his head back, peering up into the dark tangle of branches.

Bro is there, in the place that ought to be most shadowed but is clear as day to Cal’s enhanced eyesight. Nailed up against that tree like ol’ Jesus or Conan the Barbarian.

“Sure showed yer brother who’s boss, din’tcha?” Cal calls.

Bro doesn’t answer. Snorting in disgust at the silence, Cal hops up to grab the lowest branch, catching it and pulling himself up, ignoring the way his balls pulse hotly, painfully between his legs. He scrambles upward until he’s standing on the same bough, finally able to get a good look at his master.

Half of Bro’s head is caved in, fragments of his skull catching the moonlight in a winking, seashell way, like shards of abalone stickin’ out of the sand. Dave’s sword juts from Bro’s chest, blood drying along the exposed blade. There’s blood on Bro’s clothes, blood on what’s left of his face. He’s a gol-darned mess.

“Got any orders now, Smart Guy?”

He don’t. Cal reckons Bro ain’t gonna do much orderin’ for a long while, leastways not without some sustenance in him. ‘Course, it falls to Cal to provide that much-needed nourishment, so he’d better get this done ASAP. The longer he waits, the more painful everything’ll be.

Making a face, he grasps the handle of Dave’s katana and yanks it free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END PART 4. Y'all come back now, y'hear? ;D


End file.
